


Quicksand

by withdiamonds



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-11-06
Updated: 2000-11-06
Packaged: 2017-10-15 04:17:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/156944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withdiamonds/pseuds/withdiamonds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is Jim and Blair, dealing with <i>Sentinel, Too</i> and <i>TSbBS.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Quicksand

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first story I ever wrote, back in, 2000. Yikes. It's here because I'm putting everything here and for no other reason. The first part is in the first person, and I have no recollection why I did that.

It's all gone to hell again, after the debacle that was my dissertation. Oh, on the surface everything is okay. He has his life back. I have a new kind of life, maybe more of one than I deserve. But the distance between us has never been greater. Even when I was dead, the gap was more easily bridged than it is now.

I thought it was bad after Alex. And it was, bad enough that I didn't know if we should keep going or not. It was the first time I realized that it wasn't a game. Oh sure, the cop stuff had been dangerous, and I have the scars and occasional bad dreams to prove it. But Alex was the first time the Sentinel stuff itself had almost gotten me killed. Well, I guess a little more than almost. Anyway, it wasn't just research, not just a project anymore. No, this was serious-life and death stuff. Not, "Hey, Jim. How much vanilla is in this water? Hey, Jim. Can you piggyback sight to hearing and see how many baby birds are in that nest by listening to them?" No, this was more like, "Hey, Jim. How do you feel about another Sentinel invading your territory? Oh really, man? Wanna do some tests?" Not only wasn't he interested in tests, he wasn't interested in me. He needed his space. Needed a partner he could trust. Man, that was a low blow. I didn't realize until later how much I deserved that. But I still don't think I deserved to die for it. That was way harsh, in my opinion.

You know what the worst part of that whole deal was? When he stood there in that hospital room and said, "Chief, I don't know if I'm ready to take that trip with you." What the fuck was that? I _died,_ but you're still not sure if we're together on this? Thanks a lot, man. There's not much more I can do for an encore, if that hasn't convinced you. Of course I didn't realize then that Alex still had some kind of hold over him. I thought that was all over. Imagine my surprise to find them swapping spit on the beach. If I hadn't been so pissed off by that, maybe I could have come up with the answers Jim asked for. But my concentration wasn't exactly what it should have been. She killed me, and he wanted her. And even though I could intellectualize what happened, I still feel a little spark of anger, even now, when I flash on that picture of them, nicely captured by _my_ sight memory, groping each other on the sand like it was some fucking scene out of fucking "From Here to Eternity."

But even with all that, the very fact that I _was_ still alive was enough to keep me going. At the same time that I was infuriated and terrified, I was euphoric and optimistic. In other words, I was all over the place.

I was so busy thinking about myself, my research, my paper, that I didn't notice how fucked up he was until it was too late. I told him a long time ago that I had enough material to write 10 dissertations. I should have just fucking _done_ it and gotten out while I could, before I got caught up in the fucking fact that I was in so far over my head that I couldn't surface if I tried.

*

At first, I thought it was his idea of an apology. Some sort of half-assed way to make up for not wanting to make that trip with me, for not letting me even talk about the vision thing. "Sorry I fucked everything up and you died, Sandburg. Let me make it up to you. Want me to blow you? Feel better now?"

Then I realized he didn't think he did anything all that awful. He was appalled at the results, of course, but I think part of him thought it was mostly my own fault. But he couldn't stay mad at me, because what kind of an asshole stays mad at someone who died? Even if they did come back to life.

But he felt guilty for feeling angry. And he was angry at me because he felt guilty. And if I hadn't withheld knowledge of Alex from him, maybe none of this would have happened. So it's all my fault. But I'm the one who died. Jesus, talk about Merry-Go- Rounds. Where's a fucking roller coaster when you need one?

When we got home from Sierra Verde, I slept for a week. Jim wanted the doctors to put me back in the hospital, he didn't think jaunting around steamy jungles was the best idea for the recently drowned. But I didn't have the energy for that. I just wanted to sleep, and sleep I did. And Jim let me, because when I was sleeping, there was no danger I'd be talking. Or expecting him to talk.

I kept having these stupid dreams, where I was _drowning_. Sometimes Jim woke me up, sometimes I woke myself up. After one particularly dramatic occasion, with me gasping and sputtering like mad, Jim sat on my bed and looked at me. "Okay, Sandburg. I think I've had just about enough of this crap. Get up."

I stared at him. "What?"

"Get upstairs. I'm tired of coming down here every five minutes. If you're gonna have nightmares, do it upstairs."

Slowly, I stood up. He wanted me in his bed. Okay. But only so I'd be more accessible when he had to play dream-catcher. I trailed along behind him as he climbed up the stairs. He pulled back the covers on his bed. "Get in." I opened my mouth, then closed it again. I shrugged and slid into the bed. He got in on the other side and turned out the light. "Go to sleep." I did.

When the dream woke me again, I found myself sitting straight up in bed, gasping for air. Jim's arms were around me, and his hand was stroking my hair. "Breathe, Chief." I hadn't heard that soft tone in his voice directed at me for a long time. Not since the Golden. My eyes stung for a minute. Blinking, I looked up at him. He gazed down at me thoughtfully and then touched his lips to mine. What the hell? When I didn't shove him away, he deepened the kiss. I leaned into him. Okay, sex as comfort. I could do that. God knows I needed it. It took me a while to figure out that it was also another way to forestall any real efforts at communication.

That first time started off pretty tentatively. There was his kiss, soft and easy, like he was afraid he would startle me back into my bad dream if he wasn't careful. His lips were soft, but there was a strength behind them, a latent power that made me wonder what it would be like if that power was ever unleashed. What it would take to unleash it. That thought quickened my heartbeat, and Jim picked up on that instantly. He pulled his head back and looked at me. "Okay?" There were about three different questions in that one word, and I answered them all with a nod.

Jim slowly laid me back against the pillows. He touched his forehead to mine, and then buried his nose in my hair and breathed deeply. I knew he was smelling things about me that he probably couldn't label. I mean, besides the list of ingredients in my shampoo. "Chief." The whisper in my ear, his warm breath, went right to my cock. It twitched, and I was a little surprised. I'd always thought of myself as being mostly towards the straight end of the sexuality continuum, and here I was responding to my very male roommate with very little to get me going. I thought about how I might react to further stimulus, and my cock gave another little jump.

Jim was kissing behind my ear now. His tongue came out to lick my neck , and I shivered. He was being so very gentle, like he was afraid I was going to break. And maybe I was. We had been far apart for a while now, the tension simmering under the surface, until the fact that I came home one day to find my belongings in cardboard boxes was not that much of a surprise. A shock, yes, but not really a surprise. It didn't matter that Alex's presence was the catalyst, we had already been heading for some sort of blow up. And of course, then there was that whole death, vision, betrayal thing to really drive us apart. But, here we were, touching, touching tenderly, without anger, trying to bridge that gap in whatever way we could.

Jim's mouth was on my Adam's apple now, sucking slowly, leisurely. He moved his head lower, and kissing his way down my chest, found my nipple with his tongue. He licked it like he had all night, and I arched up into his touch. "Jesus," I gasped. He kissed my nipple then, and I could feel his lips curve into a smile. Suddenly, he bit down, hard, and I thought I was going to come up off the bed. He was on top of me in an instant, grinding his erection into mine. His lips caught my mouth in a crushing kiss, all clicking teeth and thrusting tongue. The heat from his cock, the pressure, and the friction from the flannel of my boxers combined to bring me off in about two seconds. My whole body tensed as I came, and I felt warm wetness spreading across my groin. He followed right behind me and I heard him force my name out through clenched teeth.

As I struggled to catch my breath, Jim rolled off me and collapsed on the bed beside me. He wasn't breathing any easier than I was. We lay there and panted for a while. Then he turned his head and looked at me. "Go to sleep, Chief."

There were things I wanted to say, but I thought better of it. Not now. Maybe Jim had the right idea, maybe sometimes, actions could say more than words. Uneasily, I pushed aside the thought that we were merely postponing the inevitable. Jim's not the only one around here who can do avoidance like a pro.

I didn't know what to do with myself in the morning. I woke up before Jim did, and decided to sneak downstairs. I was showered and had the coffee going before Jim made his way to the kitchen. He squinted at me, before nodding his head and moving toward the bathroom. Not a lot of clues there. But I needn't have worried. He acted like absolutely nothing out of the ordinary had happened, like I woke up in his bed every morning. Avoidance _and_ denial. We were on a roll here.

But eventually I discovered that we weren't avoiding and denying the sex. Just the events that had led up to it. It actually happened a few more times, some kissing and mutual groping, but I was uncomfortable with it, because I couldn't figure out why we were doing it. And then one day Jim said, " Guess the nightmares have just about stopped, huh, Chief?"

I can take a hint as well as the next guy, so I said, "Hey, man, I think I'll just crash in my own bed tonight. Since the dreams...you know."

Jim looked at me and nodded. "Sure, Sandburg. Whatever you want." His eyes were guarded, and I really didn't want to know what he was hiding behind that blue barrier. Call me a chickenshit, I just didn't want to go there.

So, we went our separate ways, at least at night. Jim continued to monitor my health, I knew he was doing it, but we didn't talk about the fact that I fucking drowned. We didn't talk about Alex, except for the time Jim said, right out of the blue, "Sandburg, I just didn't seem to have any control, you know? I just felt, I don't know, compelled, or something. I knew what she did, God, I knew, but I just had to...I don't know. Shit." We were in the truck at the time, and he kept his eyes on the road while he spoke.

I had just enough time to answer, "I know that, Jim," when we pulled up at the latest crime scene. You can't tell me he didn't plan it that way.

The few times I tried to talk about things when we had time, he cut me off like the expert he is. Even though I was still angry, I was also unsure enough of myself and my own part in what had happened, that I didn't pursue it.

I decided to just concentrate on my dissertation. I figured that would keep me out of trouble.

*

God, now I have a new image to see when I close my eyes. Sandburg, behind a bank of microphones, trying so hard to keep it together while he throws everything away. For me. I didn't ask him to do that. Of course, I made it damned near impossible for him not to. You made the mess, Chief, you clean it up. But this wasn't a messy bathroom. This was his life.

The last time I pushed him away in anger, it ended in that fucking fountain. This time it ended in a press room behind a podium. At least this time he was still breathing. The only CPR I could do involved Simon and a badge. I still don't know how effective it was.

After Alex, after the fountain, after he _died,_ I couldn't close my eyes without seeing his lifeless body on the grass. I let him think his nightmares woke me up, but I was having some nasty dreams of my own. So bringing him upstairs was for my benefit as well as for his. That first time I had him wrapped up, and he looked at me blinking back tears, I just...did it. I could no more have stopped that kiss than I could have stopped breathing myself. I half expected him to push me away, ask me what the fuck I thought I was doing. But he must have needed the contact, the distraction, because he relaxed right into it.

I've had some experience with men, but never anything serious. It usually happens at low points in my life, when I need the comfort of not pretending, when I don't have the energy to hide, to deny what I really want, when any warm body is much like another. I hadn't felt that hopeless since Sandburg came into my life. He hasn't made everything all better, but he's made it all bearable.

But this was different. This wasn't just a warm body. This was _his_ body. The one I almost lost. The last time my lips touched his, he was dead. His lips had been cold, and still. Now they were warm, and they moved under mine, tentative, but willing.

I heard his heartbeat speed up. I pulled back and looked at him. "Okay?" I asked. He nodded. I laid him down and started to explore his neck. By the time I got to his chest, we were both breathing like there wasn't much air left in the room. All at once, it was too much. I knew if I didn't finish this quickly, I would say things I shouldn't. I ground our cocks together, pushing him down into the mattress with my body. When he came, his gasp sent me right over the edge after him. I rolled to the side to allow us both to breathe. We were sticky, but we'd live till morning. "Go to sleep, Chief," I told him. We both slept the rest of the night without dreams.

The morning after was a little awkward, but we got through it without embarrassing ourselves. I knew he wanted to talk, but I just couldn't. I didn't know what to say, and I didn't want to make it worse by saying the wrong thing. I felt I owed him some kind of apology for going after Alex like I did, but the rest of it just frightened me too badly. I knew what the vision meant, what I thought it meant, but I didn't want to hear his interpretation of it.

I knew he thought it was only some kind of Sentinel thing, everything seems to come down to that with him. It's not something that defines me completely, and he knows that, but sometimes Sandburg acts like that's all there is about me that means anything to him.

Blair continued to sleep in my bed for another week or so, but the nightmares were happening less often. Sometimes we kissed, and touched a little, but after that first time, we both seemed to be holding back. I wasn't sure it was what he wanted. I was discovering that it was what I wanted all too much, and that scared the hell out of me. So I pulled away, said something about the dreams being less frequent. I was giving him a way out of my bed, if he wanted to take it.

He looked at me and said, "I think it's time to go back to my own room, man..." He stood there, waiting. I nodded. Whatever you want, Blair. Anything you want. That thought scared the shit out of me.

A few days later, I came home from work a little late. Paper work that I had to do all by myself, because Blair was busy at school. Doing God knows what, research I guess, for that fucking, fucking paper. He had no idea how much I hated that paper.

I walked into a dark, empty loft. No traces of his presence, no leftover dinner, no backpack, nothing. I fought down my first impulse, which was to panic. No sign of a struggle. I hated that my first thought was that somebody had taken him again, but experience is a good teacher, and that situation was certainly not without precedence.

And I didn't think I could face it again. I couldn't go through that one more time without losing myself, if I lost him.

Three hours later, I was no longer just scared. I was scared _and_ pissed. And I was waiting. If he breezed in here unharmed, God help him. I just might hurt him myself.

Twenty minutes later, he breezed in, looking just fine. Looking good in fact. His faded jeans hung on his hips very nicely, and his shirt was open at the neck, allowing me a view of soft brown hair. The plaid pattern of the shirt emphasized his broad shoulders, and the sleeves were rolled up to reveal his strong forearms. His hair was down, and it framed his face. I felt my jaw clench. "Where the fuck have you been?"

Oh, that's nice, Ellison. Great opening line. That should have the kid all apologetic and eager to explain. The smell of cigarettes and perfume wafted over from where he stood. "I hope that stench is second-hand, Sandburg. From a bar or something." I meant the perfume, not the cigarette smoke, but he didn't have to know that.

He stopped moving. "Excuse me?" He looked at me like I had grown a second head. "What the hell's with the attitude, man?"

"You ever think about letting me know when you're gonna be this late?" Shit, now I sounded like his mother. Except I doubt Naomi had ever ragged on him about what time he came home.

Understanding dawned in his eyes. "Oh." A pause, while he considered how mad he was going to be. "Sorry." He shrugged. "I didn't mean to worry you." Somewhat pissed off, and not really sorry. He was moving again, walking to the kitchen, opening the refrigerator, peering inside.

Okay.

I thought about unclenching my jaw, giving it a rest, then decided, what the hell, let it clench. "Just common courtesy, Chief, that's all I'm asking for here." Right, and my sanity, too.

"Unclench, Jim, give it a rest. I'm fine." He pulled out a bottle of water and shut the door.

"This time. But you seem to screw up more than any one I know. That's quite a talent you have there. How do you do it?" God, shut up, Ellison. I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, I was sorry I did. Now he was seriously pissed, and his face showed it.

"Is that what you think?" Blair's eyes glittered dangerously. "That I bring shit down on my own head? That I _ask_ for it?"

"I think that sometimes, the way you conduct yourself, yes, you do ask for it. You don't pay attention to other people, Sandburg, you just go along, thinking about how people are affecting you, but not about what effect you have on them. And that pisses people off, especially when they're psychotic to begin with. I just think if you paid a little more attention-" I stopped, because Blair was no longer there to hear me.

I stood there, listening to the reverberations of the French doors slamming. Interesting, how the original sound became fainter, while the echoes wove back and forth, never completely fading, creating new echoes every time they doubled back on themselves, closer, farther away, closer...

"Jim! Shit. Jim, c'mon, that's right. Come on, Jim. Listen to me."

Blair. Breath in my face. Voice in my ear. Hand on my arm. I shook him off. "I'm fine," I said tersely.

He backed off. His eyes slid away from my face. "Okay. I'm going to bed," he said.

"Blair. I'm sor-"

"Save it." He was gone.

I was almost asleep when I realized I still didn't know why he smelled of perfume. I was sure I didn't want to know, not really. It was none of my business, after all.

*

"Goddammit, Sandburg, what the hell is wrong with you? Are you really that stupid? Or is that just an act?" Jim was so angry that he didn't see Blair's eyes widen at that, and then narrow quickly. "If you don't know any better, you aren't responsible, is that what you think? Wrong. It doesn't work like that anymore. You're a cop, now, Chief, and you have to act like one. You can't hide behind your civilian status anymore. Or behind me." Jim slammed the door of the loft shut behind them. He threw his keys in the basket, but was too angry to bother taking off his jacket.

"Fuck you, Jim. Fuck. You." Blair replied to Jim's outburst coldly and quietly.

The set of his shoulders warned Jim that he was pushing too hard, but he didn't care. He had had it up to here with Blair's attitude, with his not talking, with his anger. It was as if their normal roles had been reversed, and Jim didn't like it.

"The man is our suspect, and now, thanks, to you, he knows exactly what we have on him, and exactly how much we _don't_ have. You have to control yourself better than that. If you can't remain objective-"

"Jesus Christ!" Blair exploded, "That's rich, coming from you. Do you have any idea how fucking tired I am of hearing that particular speech? Pot and kettle, Jim. Oh, wait, I forgot, the Cop of the Year doesn't make any mistakes, does he, Jim? Doesn't matter which year you were the cop of, though, does it, Jim? How long ago was that, huh, Jim? But you're still perfect, right, Jim?" The sneer twisted his lips, giving his face an expression that made Jim close his eyes so he didn't have to see it. What was going on here, where was this coming from?

How did his partner do that, make Jim's name sound like an insult, like a bad taste in his mouth that he needed to spit out? Jim found his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He forced himself to relax. Well, he'd wanted a reaction. Maybe he should rethink that. Except it was apparently too late. Blair appeared to be on a roll.

"You're such a fucking hypocrite, you know that? Don't let your anger get in the way. Don't let it take you out of the game. Well, Jim I've got news for you. That's how you live your whole life, man. Anger and fear, leading you around by the nose." Blair was pacing as he spoke, fury in every line of his body. He stopped in front of Jim and looked up at him. "Remember, I _know_ you, man. I studied you. I watched you, and I took notes on every fucking thing you said and did. I _dissected_ you." He hesitated then, as he realized what he was saying.

Jim stopped breathing. He felt like he had been sucker punched. He wanted to breathe, knew he had to, but he couldn't seem to get started. This was new, having Blair's anger focused so intensely on him. Jim could have gone his whole life without experiencing this, and been happy. His lungs finally kicked in again, and he took a deep breath. Blair was looking at him with a mixture of belligerence and shame.

"Jim," he started.

"Forget, it, Sandburg." He didn't think he could stand it if Blair tried to apologize. The only thing worse would be if he didn't try. Jim turned on his heel and walked out the door. He didn't slam it this time.

*

"Sandburg. Ellison. My office." Simon appeared calm, but Jim didn't like the look in his eyes. Exasperated best described it, he decided.

After they were settled, Jim standing in front of Simon's desk, and Blair perched with one hip on the corner of the conference table, Simon spoke. "I thought you two were going to bring Jonathan Drake in for questioning. Why don't I see him?”

Jim looked at Blair. "Chief?"

Blair glared at Jim, then turned his attention to Simon. "Jim thinks I screwed up the interview. He thinks there's not much point in a Q&A until we have more evidence." He looked away. "He's probably right."

Simon shot a glance at Jim. "Oh? Do one of you want to fill me in, here?"

Jim sighed. He realized he didn't really want to get Simon involved in this. Whatever the hell was wrong with Blair, it was something he should probably try to keep off Simon's radar screen.

"It's okay, Captain. Sandburg just got a little angry the other day. He said some things to Drake that-"

"I tipped our goddamned hand, okay, Simon? You don't have to sugar-coat it, Jim. You were right, I fucked up royally. Are either of you really surprised? Isn't that what you've been waiting for?" Blair was off the table and out the door before the two men could react. Only Jim heard the sotto voce, "Fuck you, Ellison." as his partner stalked away.

"Jim?" Simon fixed his detective with a glare. "What in the _hell_ is going on here?"

"I don't really know, Simon. He shuts me out. He's so angry, and everything I do or say is wrong."

"Well, you'd better find a way to reach him, Jim. We didn't come this far with this thing just so you two could screw it up. If the kid's got a bug up his ass about something, it's up to you to fix it, Detective. You're his partner."

Jim started to protest, but one look at Simon's face shut him up. He knew that Simon had some definite opinions about the events of the past six months, and Jim didn't particularly want to hear them.

"Yes, Sir." He sighed.

"Talk to him, Jim. Get him to talk to you. Sandburg's the best talker I know. You just need to get him started."

Jim closed his eyes, then opened them again wearily. "Right." As he walked out of the office, Simon jammed his cigar in the corner of his mouth and shook his head.

*

Blair was waiting for Jim. He turned stormy blue eyes on his partner. "C'mon, Jim. We have to bring Drake in anyway. We don't have a choice."

"I know, Chief." He hesitated. "Listen, Blair, I know I said some things the other day. I was angry."

"No shit, Jim." Blair scowled up at him. "That's a real news flash now, isn't it?"

Jim felt his jaw start to clench again. He couldn't figure out why he hadn't pulled a muscle there yet, what with all the fucking clenching he'd been doing lately. Here we go again, he thought.

"Hey, don't you talk to me about goddamn anger, Sandburg. You're the one who's perpetually pissed these days. You ever planning on telling me why? You might as well do it and get it over with."

"You're a real dick sometimes, Jim, you know that? Mr. Open, Mr. Share-His-Feelings, is gonna give me pointers in communicating?"

"Well, somebody has to, because you're doing a shitty job on your own. Whatever's up your ass, Sandburg, I'm sick and fucking tired of it." Jim glanced around the bullpen as he realized that his voice was a lot louder at the end of that sentence than it had been at the beginning. Brown was the only one around, and he was studiously keeping his eyes glued to the paperwork on the desk in front of him.

"Oh really. Well that's just too goddamn bad, isn't it? Why don't you go fuck yourself." And Blair was gone, leaving only his scent for Jim to glare at. Was it his imagination, or did every conversation they have lately end with Blair telling him to go fuck himself?

Jim didn't have to turn around and look to know that Simon was watching from his office. Shit. Well, bullying Blair hadn't gotten him to talk. Maybe he should try honesty for a change. But his mind shrank from what could happen if he told Blair the truth. Would a declaration of undying love and devotion make things better or worse? There was a moment, in the hospital, after the press conference, when he thought he had seen something in Blair's eyes. Something that gave him hope that he wasn't alone here. That had faded as Blair became more remote. Every time Blair got angry, Jim hoped he'd lose it enough to actually say something, something Jim could grab hold of and say, "Ah ha! This is what's wrong." But so far, Blair just kept telling him to go fuck himself.

Well, not this time. Jim jerked his jacket off the hook and marched out in pursuit of his partner.

*

Blair stood at the back of the elevator and stared resolutely at the panel of numbers lighting up as the elevator made it's way down to the garage level. A tall woman in the corner, a clerk from Burglary, was glancing at him from the corner of her eye. He had stomped onto the elevator, swearing under his breath, before becoming aware that it was occupied and he wasn't alone. He took slow deep breaths, trying to center himself and regain some semblance of control. "Ping!" Third floor, Burglary. The tall woman gave him another uneasy look as she side-stepped past him and out the door.

Shit! Way to go. Soon they'll all think you're some kind of whacko. He shook his head at himself. Get a grip. Before you lose everything again. He didn't know how much harder he could push Jim away before he actually went. More to the point, how many more times could he tell Jim to go fuck himself before Jim finally smacked him? That thought brought a faint grin to his face, which quickly faded. Smacking involved touching, and they didn't do much of that anymore. In fact, they went out of their way to avoid it. Unless Jim zoned, which happened rarely these days, they were careful to keep a measured distance between them. Blair let his thoughts drift back to those few nights, when they had done more than just touch. He didn't allow himself to do that very often. That way lay disaster, he was sure.

Jim caught up to him as he approached the Volvo. Blair wasn't surprised to see him. He turned to his partner. "Look, man, I'm sorry, okay?"

"We have to talk, Blair."

Blair swallowed. This was so not good. He felt on the verge of panic, fear of exposure making him defensive. "Later," he snapped. "We have to see Drake again. Bring him in. Simon said."

For a minute, it looked like Jim might dig his heels in, insist on talking here and now. Then he jerked his head toward his truck, parked a few spaces over from Blair. "Get in." Blair sighed. Some things would never change. And some things weren't worth arguing about. He needed to learn to pick his battles more carefully, and he might as well start now. He moved to the truck and got in.

*

The ride to Drake's house was silent. Blair stared out the window, ignoring him. Jim thought about trying to initiate another discussion, but decided he really didn't feel like being told to go fuck himself again, at least not in his own truck. So he kept his eyes on the road and his hands on the wheel and his thoughts to himself.

They pulled up in front of Drake's house. Blair was out of the truck and halfway up the sidewalk before Jim had his seatbelt off. Shit. He sighed and followed his partner, then hesitated.

Blair stopped in the middle of the walkway. He started to turn around, waiting for Jim to catch up. "What is it, man? What's wrong?"

"Shut up a minute, Sandburg." Jim heard a door closing, and hurried footsteps coming from what he guessed was the back yard. The sound of a frantic heartbeat was rapidly receding.

"Shit! He's gone out the back door!" Jim swung his arm around, pointing. "You go that way." He took off in the opposite direction, circling the right side of the house. Blair went left. As they both emerged into the backyard, Jonathan Drake was just shoving himself through the gap in his otherwise well-maintained hedge.

"Freeze! Cascade PD!" Blair yelled, at the same time that Jim shouted, "Don't move! Stay right where you are."

Jonathan Drake looked as though he were weighing his options. Then he bolted through the gap and started running, both detectives in full pursuit, guns drawn. He crossed the yard of the house behind him. Jim yelled, "Stop or I'll shoot!" Drake stopped, but as Jim got closer, Drake wheeled around and kicked the gun out of his hand. It went flying through the air and landed in the green plastic recycling bin tucked neatly next to the neighbor's garage.

"Fuck," Jim muttered. He could have sworn he heard a snort coming from Blair's direction as he looked that way. Blair's gun was trained steadily on Drake.

"Turn around. Slowly. Hands behind your back." Blair snapped the cuffs on Drake, then patted him down, quickly and efficiently. "Jim--call it in," he shot in the direction of his partner. Jim scowled, but did as he was told. Then he retrieved his gun from the recycling bin. This time, he definitely heard a snicker.

*

"Would you mind telling me how you almost let this guy get away?" Blair hoped that Simon's question was rhetorical, because he really didn't want to answer it.

"That's not a rhetorical question, in case you were wondering," Simon said, glaring at both of them, cigar clamped in his teeth.

"Hoping, sir," Jim said. The glare intensified. "He just slipped out the back."

"And you didn't hear him right away because...?"

Because he was preoccupied, Blair thought, because I was pissed, and he was pissed. Because maybe this partner stuff isn't going to work anymore. Blair looked at Jim. The jaw muscle was at work again.

Blair cleared his throat.

"Simon." The glare shifted. "Uh, Captain. It was my fault. We were discussing some things, and well, Jim was, um, distracted. I know better, Simon, dammit, you know I do, and it won't happen again."

"Sandburg," Simon started.

Blair straightened. "Simon, maybe you liked it better before, when you could say-- 'Sandburg, you're not a cop!'--ten times a day, but it's not like that anymore." He was silent a moment, then continued. "I really wanted this, I wanted it to work. Maybe too much. But I feel like you're just waiting for me to screw up." He let out a breath. "This really sucks."

"Chief?" Jim's voice was raspy, like he needed to clear his throat. "Is that what you think?" He blinked. "You think we expect you to fail?"

"I think on some level, you want me to fail, Jim. Then things can go back to the way they were before. Before...everything."

"Sandburg," Simon interjected. "You're not the only one around here who's worked hard so you could be a real cop. I do not expect you to fail. If you do, I'll kick your ass around the block and back." He pointed his cigar at Blair for emphasis. When he continued speaking, his voice was softer. "You're doing fine--for a rookie. If I really think you've screwed up, believe me, you'll know it. Now get out of here. I need to talk to your partner."

Blair nodded. He paused, his hand on the door knob. "I'll finish up the paperwork." Then he was gone.

*

Jim waited for Simon to speak first. There wasn't anything he really wanted to say, anyway.

"Jim. How did things get this bad? I thought making Sandburg your official partner was the right thing to do, but maybe it wasn't." He paused. "The kid's a mess, Jim."

"You think I don't know that, Simon? I think I'm beginning to see what the problem is. Part of it, at least." He walked over to the window and peered out at the gathering twilight. "I thought maybe he hated being a cop. He was fine at the Academy though, got over the whole gun thing." He broke off and grinned suddenly. "I think all that protesting was mostly for Naomi's benefit, anyway."

"Maybe he doesn't hate it, Jim. He sure seemed to like it when he didn't _have_ to do it. That's why I thought this would work."

"I think it can," Jim said.

"Then go fix it," Simon growled.

"You think I don't want to? Simon, this means more to me than you know. You were right, that time when you asked me if I could have handled the Sentinel thing without him. I couldn't have. I don't want to. But the little shit has gotten things all backwards."

"Jim."

Jim looked at his boss.

"Why are you still here?"

Jim left Simon's office and headed to the garage. Since both cars were at the station, there was plenty of time for Jim to plan his attack on the drive home. Except he didn't have a clue what to do. He arrived at the loft with no plan whatsoever.

*

Blair appeared to have a plan-- to go to his room and ignore Jim completely. Jim, however, was not cooperating. He parked himself in the doorway of Blair's room, arms crossed, shoulders against the doorjamb. Blair continued to ignore him, moving around the room, straightening the papers on his desk. Jim stood there, unmoving, waiting. Finally, Blair caved.

"What?!"

"We need to talk."

"Forget it."

"Now," Sandburg.

Blair squinted at him, seeming to consider. He moved past Jim and into the living room. Jim shoved himself away from the door and followed him.

Flopping himself down on the couch, Blair chewed his lower lip and his right leg bounced. Jim looked at him, feeling a rush of tenderness. He knew what he wanted, even if he didn't have a plan, and he hoped like hell that he wasn't wrong, and Blair wanted the same thing.

"Chief." Nothing. "Look at me."

Blair raised his eyes and met Jim's for a brief second. Then he jumped to his feet and started pacing.

"Blair, why are you so pissed?"

"What do you want from me, Jim?"

"I want you to tell me what the fuck is going on." Jim's voice was soft. The sound of it made Blair falter a little, then he regained his momentum, circling the coffee table now, like a wolf circling a campfire in the woods.

"I thought -I thought I had it all figured out. I thought I knew what I wanted. I _did_ know, man. I knew." Blair came to a stop. He looked lost, looked around as if he didn't know how he had gotten there, in amongst all the furniture. "Now I don't know anything." He sounded frustrated.

"Blair. Tell me what you knew." Jim held his breath. He needed Blair to tell him. He didn't want to have to tell Blair.

"I wanted this. I thought it could work. But you, man...nothing's changed. It's still like it was before."

Jim waited. C'mon, Sandburg. For a minute, he felt as lost as Blair looked. "Chief, I'm sorry. I don't know what you mean."

*

Blair sighed with irritation. "I know, Jim, that's part of the problem here, man. You don't know. You're so fucking clueless."

"Well, Einstein, why don't you explain it to me then." Jim's voice took on an edge. "Since I'm so fucking clueless here, why don't you enlighten me?"

"Jesus Christ!" Blair wasn't sure he could keep it together if Jim didn't stop pushing. He seemed to be trying to goad Blair into losing his temper. He did that a lot lately, and Blair was determined not to play that game. If he ever let go, he was afraid he might say things he would regret, things he really didn't mean, but couldn't take back once they were out there, once they were said, once they were _screamed_ , which they would be, if he ever let himself go. So, it was best to keep a tight rein on his rage.

"Jim, did you want me to be a cop? I mean _really_ want that? Or did you just feel guilty? Tell me you didn't like it better the way it was before, when you could be in charge, when I was just the tag-along ride-along. Do you think we'll ever get to the point where you could give me some fucking credit? I'm good at this, Jim. And I wanted it." He sank down on the couch again. "I wanted it," he whispered.

"Jesus, Chief." Jim turned away to look out the balcony windows. "Is that what you think? Is that how I am?"

Blair looked up. "Yeah, sometimes you are. I thought after I finished at the Academy, we would truly be partners. That's what you said, you and Simon. But I'm not getting that." His anger was gone, diminished by a sudden weariness.

Jim turned back to face him. "I did feel guilty, Blair. I still do. You gave up everything. Don't think I don't know that. All your work, your dreams. You let everyone think that you're a liar and a fraud." The edge was back in his voice. "I didn't ask you to do that, you know."

"Do you know why I did it, Jim? Do you have any idea?" He felt so tired. He didn't have the strength for this anymore. He had used up too much of his energy hiding, waiting. "I did it because I love you." He barely whispered the words, but he knew Jim heard them. He felt hot and cold at the same time, cold with fear and hot with self- consciousness. He stared at his feet.

"Do you know how long I've been waiting to hear you say that, Blair?" Jim's voice, too, was a whisper. "Since Alex, since the fountain..." he trailed off.

Blair snapped his head up, stunned. He stared at Jim. "Are you fucking kidding me, man? Are you saying -I mean, what _are_ you saying here?"

"I'm saying I love you too. And I've wanted you. I've wanted you to love me. I didn't want to lose you again. I lost you once, Blair. When you died." The words reverberated around the loft and Jim looked like he wanted to pull them back in. Blair wished that he could.

*

Jim looked at Blair's stricken face. Christ, he hadn't meant to say that. Now they had to talk about it, acknowledge that it had happened. But it _had_ happened, and maybe it was time to stop tip-toeing around the elephant in the room and to finally throw its ass out the door.

"You died." He repeated softly. "And I couldn't have that. There was no way that was possible. And afterwards, I knew. I loved you. You showed me that by dying, Chief. That if you were gone, I was too."

Blair's elbows were on his knees, his face in his hands. He raised his head, his eyes fixing on Jim. They shone with a blaze of fury that startled Jim in its intensity. "I didn't die, Jim. I was _killed_. There's a slight difference there. It was not a nice peaceful death, lying in bed surrounded by my loved ones after living to a ripe old age. I was _murdered_. I drowned. It wasn't easy." His voice broke. "It was hard. I hated it. And there was no one to tell." His eyes were full of tears, but he resolutely shook his head and tried to blink them away.

Jim found his way from the window to the couch and lowered himself down carefully next to Blair. He needed to be _very_ careful. There was more damage to be repaired here than he had thought. How could he not have known that?

"I'm sorry, Blair. I thought--I guess I thought you were okay. I should have let you talk. I know that."

"I _was_ okay. I was _alive_ , Jim. And that was such a relief, but it didn't mean the other part hadn't happened. I was so angry at you. Not because I died, that wasn't your fault, man. And Alex...that wasn't your fault, either, I know that. But you were mad at me, or it felt like you were." He hesitated. "You loved me?" Jim nodded. Blair gave a watery chuckle. "Way to hide it, guy. You sure had me fooled."

"I _was_ mad at you, Chief. I was so scared, and I didn't want to be, and that made me mad. And I knew what I had done. But it seemed like you bounced back, like you always do. Face it, Chief, you're a great bouncer." He smiled sadly. "And then you just went back to writing like it was the only thing that mattered. So I let you."

Blair lay back against the couch, his head resting on the afghan, contemplating the ceiling. "I didn't know what else to do, man. So I wrote." He sighed. "I shouldn't have."

"I wanted you to want _me_ , but it seemed you wanted _what_ I am, not _who_ I am." Jim smiled wryly. "It pissed me off."

"Yeah, I noticed." Blair turned his head to look at Jim with growing insight. "That's why you thought I might take advantage of the situation, of what Naomi did."

Jim gazed down at his feet. "Yeah." He was a little embarrassed. "I should have known you wouldn't do that."

"No, no. We both made some mistakes here."

They sat in silence for a while. Then Blair said, "I realized I didn't need the diss. The fame, the fortune." He smiled wryly. Then he sobered. "I already had what I needed. I had you. Except I was about to lose you. And I couldn't have that. There was no way that was possible."

Jim felt light-headed with relief. No, it was more than relief. It was almost absolution, an easing of the constrictions of his heart. It gave him the courage to continue. "Do you really think I don't want you, this way, at work? Do you think I don't want us to be equal partners?"

Blair closed his eyes. "I don't know what you want, Jim. All I know is how it feels."

Jim thought a while. "I want you to be my real partner, Chief. I respect the hell out of you and I know that you can do it. But, maybe you're right. It feels somehow, I don't know, _safer_ the old way. Old habits die hard, I guess."

"I guess," Blair said.

"Just kick my ass to remind me once in a while, okay?"

Blair snorted. "Right." He stood up. "I need a beer. You want one?"

"Sure."

He brought back two bottles, already opened, and handed one to Jim. They sat and drank in silence. The silence lengthened, deepened. Jim could hear the refrigerator, the creaking of the building, the wind outside. Gradually he became aware of another sound. Blair's heartbeat, steadily picking up speed, accelerating, until it was pounding in Jim's ears. "Chief?"

Blair leaned forward and put his beer bottle on the coffee table. He reached for Jim's, took it out of his hand, and placed it next to his own. He turned, sitting sideways, facing Jim. His eyes were dark. Jim caught his breath. Shit, Blair was beautiful. His lips were parted and his tongue came out to lick a drop of beer off them. Jim felt himself flush. They had done this before, but it had been quick and needy, to comfort and reassure, both himself and Blair, that Blair was alive. This time, it would come from love.

Jim extended his hand, touching Blair's lower lip with his fingertips. It was so soft, like silk. Blair's tongue came out again, this time to touch Jim's fingers, flicking over them briefly, sending a current of electricity up Jim's arm. He jerked his arm away quickly, then pushed a strand of hair that had escaped from the hair tie back off Blair's face, moving before the brief flicker of confusion could even register in Blair's eyes. He reached his hand behind Blair's head and untied the leather thong, and Blair's hair fell loose around his face. Blair's tongue darted out again.

Jim's hand rested on the back of Blair's neck. He pulled his head forward, bringing their faces closer. His lips touched those soft silken ones fleetingly, then returned to claim them again. Blair's lips were soft, but his kiss wasn't. It was hard and demanding, Blair taking what he needed from Jim, informing him that he was no longer to be denied, in any way. Telling him that Jim was his, and he was Jim's. Jim accepted and returned this instruction with equal determination.

Blair pulled back, and Jim let him, keeping his fingers entwined in his hair. Blair's lips were swollen and wet, and looking at them, Jim felt a wave of dizziness go through him. God, he had wanted this for so long, and had begun to doubt that he would ever have it. But here was Blair, watching him with eyes that promised all that he could ever want. His own eyes stung for a moment, and he closed them. "Jim." Blair's voice was soft and sweet. "Can I make love to you?" Jim's eyes opened. Blair's face swam in front of him.

Yes," he breathed. "Please."

Blair pulled away from Jim's hold. "Upstairs. Now." Standing up, Blair gazed hotly down at Jim. Jim flushed again under the intense heat in those incredible eyes. He scrambled to obey the promise in them. Blair followed him.

*

When they reached the top, Jim hesitated, as if unsure what to do next. Blair gave him a gentle shove towards the bed. "Take your shirt off." As he did, Blair savored the sight of that incredible chest. It looked so unyielding, and for a moment Blair's assurance faltered. But a glance at Jim's face was enough. Blair pushed, and Jim sat down on the edge of the bed. Blair stepped between Jim's knees and Jim wrapped his arms around his waist. They stayed that way for a moment, both knowing this was the lull before the storm, an undercurrent of desire thrumming beneath the calm exterior

Then Blair stepped back, and the heat in Jim's eyes sent a shock of exhilaration through him. They were really going to do this. He put his hands on either side of Jim's face and said fiercely, "This is it. There's no going back after this. Do you understand that?"

By way of an answer, Jim stood and began to unbutton Blair's shirt. He slid it down over his shoulders, then bent his head to place soft, wet kisses along Blair's collar bone, down to his nipple. Jim's tongue flicked the tip, and Blair groaned. His arms were caught by his shirt, and he struggled against the captivity, even as he reveled in it.

Jim's mouth moved up towards Blair's neck, fastening on the soft skin behind his ear. Blair lifted his chin, tilting his head up, giving Jim access to his throat. Jim took it, continuing to kiss him softly, ruthlessly, until Blair was frantic with desire. His cock was trapped in his jeans, constricted by the tight denim. Just as it became unbearable, Jim reached down with his hand, cupping Blair's erection through his jeans. His hips jerked as he thrust into Jim's hand. Jim's palm slid quickly and firmly over him, long fingers caressing his balls.

Jim caught hold of Blair's shirt with his other hand, grasping it so Blair's hands were captured behind his back. He whimpered, and Jim's mouth came down on his, tongue tasting the sounds. Blair gave himself up to sensation, he was lost in it, lost in Jim. He was going to come like this, in his pants, but he was beyond caring. He wanted it to happen, he needed it now, yes, God, oh yes, there it was, and Jim released his mouth, fastening on his neck again, sucking hard, and that was enough to send him over the edge, and he was falling, almost sobbing with the intensity of it. His cock spurted inside his jeans, twitching against the cloth of his underwear, and he couldn't control the movement of his hips, and Jim was holding him up and crooning nonsense in his ear. "That's it, baby, that's it. Come for me, that's right, I love you, that's it. God, you're so beautiful."

*

As Blair's muscles regained the ability to support his bones, Jim disentangled the shirt from his wrists. They turned, and Blair sprawled back on the bed, eyes closed. His feet were on the floor, knees bent, thighs spread, the front of his jeans dark and wet. His bare chest was flushed, his lips were parted, and his tongue came out to lick them yet again. Jim thought he would never again be able to watch his partner lick his lips without wanting to ravish him on the spot. Maybe he needed to warn him of that, before they went back out into the world and got into big trouble, like say in a restaurant, someday. He grinned at that thought, but the grin faded as Blair opened his eyes. The look in them was both sated and predatory.

Blair reached down and started to unbutton his damp jeans. He slowly lowered the zipper, and raised his hips off the bed. He pushed his pants down, past his hips, down to mid-thigh. His softened penis lay damply to one side, and his hand trailed through his pubic hair. He looked completely debauched. He raised himself up on his elbows as he looked at Jim. "I'm gonna get hard again real soon, Jim. I'm gonna get hard for you. And then I'm gonna fuck you, so be ready for that, Jim." His lips curled up in a slow smile.

The bottom dropped out of Jim's stomach. He wanted to drop his pants and offer himself to Blair right then and there.

Well, why not? His hand went to his zipper. "No. Don't move." Blair sat up. "I want to do that." He pulled his own jeans down and off, along with his shoes and socks, and got to his feet. Then he reached a hand out and touched Jim's chest. He thumbed a nipple, increasing the pressure as he worked his thumb in a circle. Jim swallowed and closed his eyes.

"No. Open them. Look at me." Jim obeyed. Blair's eyes still had that lazy, seductive gleam in them. "Do you want me, Jim? Do you? Then kiss me," he demanded. As their mouths got closer, Jim reached out with his tongue and swiped slowly across Blair's bottom lip. His turn to lick it, he thought. Then he was caught in a slow, easy kiss, wet and good.

Blair's hands were at the waistband of Jim's jeans, working the button and zipper. He pulled the pants and boxers down together, past Jim's hips. His arms went around Jim's neck, and he pulled him closer to deepen the kiss. Jim started to push his jeans down farther, to get out of them completely, but Blair broke the kiss, his voice deep and dark, stopping him. "No. Leave them. I like them like that." Suddenly Jim felt more exposed than if he'd been completely naked, as he felt cool air brushing across his ass. He became impossibly more aroused, his cock impossibly harder. He _wanted_ to expose himself to Blair, to let him see everything there was to see.

Blair's hands pushed at him gently, turning him around. Blair kissed his shoulder, lips whispering down his back slowly, surely, down, down to his waist. Now Blair was on his knees, and Jim felt his tongue trace a path across one buttock, then the other, leaving them wet and chilled in the cool air. He held himself still, trembling with the effort. Blair's tongue came closer and closer to where he wanted it to be, towards his center, but then there were hands on his hips again, turning him again, and he complied, he had no choice, he would never have a choice again, he could see that now.

Blair was licking his hipbone, the hollow of his hips, nuzzling his pubic hair, taking the hair between his lips and pulling, the slight sharp pain causing Jim's cock to jump. His erection jutted out and up, and then Blair's mouth was on it, finally, kissing the base, circling his tongue around the head, catching the drop of moisture at the tip, taking the head into his mouth, still with that same lazy, sensuous touch. His hair grazed Jim's thighs, and Jim could hear the soft sounds of appreciation Blair made as he tasted Jim for the first time. Blair's unique scent was coupled with the smell of his semen and his renewed arousal. The sight of Blair on his knees, head moving slowly as he pleasured Jim, was almost too much.

As Jim's knees buckled under the sensory onslaught, Blair maneuvered them both around again, and Jim found himself face down on the bed. Blair was behind him, breath hot on his ass. He felt teeth on one cheek, then the other, as Blair covered him with nips and bites. He tried to spread his legs, to spread them for Blair, but his jeans prevented him from moving. "Blair, please," he gasped. Quickly, his jeans were jerked down his legs and over his feet, shoes and socks swept along in the process.

Giddy with relief, he brought his knees up under him, pushing his ass back at Blair. "Touch me! God, please, Blair, please."

*

"Shhh," Blair soothed. "I will. I will. Take it easy." He stroked his hand up and down Jim's back, feeling the exquisite play of muscles under his fingers. A ferocious sense of possessiveness took hold of him and for a moment he couldn't breathe. This man was his, belonged to him, as he belonged to Jim. The difficulty of the journey they had made to this point only made their surrender that much sweeter.

His hands found their way to the taut roundness of Jim's ass, and he bent his head to kiss the pale skin. He sank to his knees and flicked his tongue across the top of the dark crease. A small sound came from Jim, a sound of need that tightened Blair's gut. He spread Jim's cheeks apart, thumbs circling his anus, touching lightly, teasingly. Jim moaned. "Please," he whispered again. Blair's tongue moved down, towards the dark muscle that quivered, waiting for his touch. He swiped across it, once, once more, then again and again. Jim's hips were pushing back, and Blair placed his hands on them, to still their movements. His tongue continued touching, tasting, merciless in its quest

At last, Blair pulled his head back. "Lube," he said desperately. "Where--"

Jim's voice was muffled, his face in the bedspread, but Blair could make out, "Nightstand. Bottom drawer."

Blair tried to prepare Jim slowly, carefully, but Jim's thrusts back on his fingers were too urgent "Now, Blair." Jim's voice was commanding and pleading at the same time. It was more than Blair could resist.

As he entered the welcoming body, Jim yielding to him with such demand, Blair felt his control over his emotions begin to slip. This was really not the time to burst into tears and tell Jim that he loved him beyond all reason, but the desire to do so was almost too much. The pressure in his chest was smothering him, and he transformed that need into action.

Blair stood behind Jim, stroking into him smoothly, setting up a rhythm, Jim answering his movements with powerful backwards thrusts of his hips. Jesus, he could do this forever, his could stay right here, inside Jim, for the rest of their lives.

*

Jim was submerged, riding the currents of sensation, like a piece of driftwood caught in an undertow. His body moved of it's own volition, doing what it needed to keep him there. As Blair's thrusts angled downward, a white heat suffused through him, transcending anything else he had ever felt. He didn't hear the sounds coming from above him, or from himself, he could only feel. He gradually became aware that Blair had stopped moving, was leaning over his back, breath harsh and rapid. "I need more, Jim." Blair slowly pulled out, leaving Jim bereft, not knowing what Blair meant, why he was leaving. Blair urged Jim onto his back. "Scoot up," he said. Jim tried, but his mind reeled, his brain still fogged by the near zone he had been flirting with. Blair chucked softly. "I'm sorry, Jim. I'm not really thinking here. But I need to see you."

Jim flushed, and moved up on the bed, leaning against the pillows. Blair positioned himself between Jim's legs and pushed Jim's thighs back and up. He paused with his cock nudging Jim's anus, then he slammed back inside. Jim arched up, gasping, and Blair did it again. "That's it, Jesus, you're beautiful like this, you're mine, aren't you, Jim?"

"Yes, please, Blair, yours."

Blair's hand was on his cock now, pumping it with the same punishing rhythm that he was using to pump his ass. His other hand came up to cup Jim's face. His index finger traced Jim's lips, and Jim turned his head for more. Two fingers were slipped into his mouth, and Jim sucked on them eagerly. Blair began to push his fingers in and out, slowing down all his movements to a languorous pace.

Jim groaned around Blair's fingers, protesting. His cries were incoherent, and he let himself plead wordlessly. Heat began to build in the back of his thighs, in his balls, in his ass, God his ass was filled with Blair, his ass was being fucked so sweetly, his mouth was filled with Blair, was being fucked so sweetly, his cock was enveloped in that warm hand, and he felt himself begin to drift again.

"Jim! Jim, look at me." He opened his eyes; he had no choice but to obey that voice. He looked up into the precious face, and the expression of tenderness he saw there shot right to his balls. He came suddenly, ass clenching around Blair's cock. He thrust up into Blair's hand, sucking feverishly on Blairs's fingers, all of it serving as an anchor to keep him from floating off the bed.

*

White hot, molten liquid covered Blair's hand. Jim's muscles contracted, squeezing Blair's cock, the spasms sending him where he needed to go. His fingers were caught in Jim's warm, wet mouth, and then he was coming, calling out to Jim, his name like a prayer of thanksgiving. He rode the crest, and as it subsided, he collapsed onto Jim's chest. It was heaving with Jim's effort to catch his breath, and Blair pulled out of Jim's body slowly and gently, rolling to his side.

"No, Chief." Jim's arms were around him, pulling him back on top of his chest. They looked at one another for a moment, then Blair settled his weight over Jim, and tucked his head under Jim's chin. They drowsed together, and Blair felt himself beginning to surface at last.


End file.
